


I will refrain

by squiddz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Protective Crowley, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21534994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddz/pseuds/squiddz
Summary: Aziraphale still has nightmares about the holy water he gave Crowley.Based on a prompt: Aziraphale has a dream where Crowley dies.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 279





	I will refrain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello please enjoy my first prompt fill. Also, cw: suicide mention, major character death (temporary, obviously). Everything is fine in the end! It just gets a bit angsty before then.

Aziraphale stared down the black front door of Crowley’s flat, heaving a deep, steadying breath. Everything was fine, there was no use getting into a tizzy unnecessarily. Yes, Crowley had missed their lunch reservation, and yes, when he thought about it, he hadn’t actually seen him in a couple of days. But that didn’t  _ mean _ anything. He’d probably just got caught up in one of those harebrained schemes of his and lost track of time. He was just double-checking. Overthinking it, really. Once Crowley answered the door, he’d be ever so apologetic, take him out to dinner tonight, and it would all be hunky dory.

Yes, everything was absolutely, perfectly  _ fine _ .

He rapped gently on the door. There was no response. He tried again, a little louder this time, but still nothing.

“Crowley?” he called out.

Not even a shuffle behind the door.

Well, not to worry. Crowley was probably just asleep. Yes, that was it. Crowley had taken a nap and ended up sleeping far longer than he intended, the silly thing.

He put his hand around the doorknob, felt the deadbolts miraculously clunk out of the way, and pushed the door open.

The flat was eerily, deadly silent.

“Crowley?” he tried again, but only the echoes of his footsteps off the spartan walls answered.

Aziraphale clenched his jaw, desperately ignoring the knot twisting in his stomach.

There was a hollow clatter as his foot kicked something on the floor. A wave of dread rolled over him like ice water. He glanced down, where a cylindrical object was rolling by his shoes.

He recognised it immediately. A tartan thermos, missing its lid. With trembling fingers, he picked it up.

Empty.

He swallowed the bile rising at the back of his throat and slowly walked into a large empty room, harsh and grey. He refused to look at the ground, he knew what was there.

But his eyes betrayed him. In the middle of the room was a black stain burning through the floor, tendrils of smoke curling in the cold light. The thermos in his hand became heavy, slipped through his fingers, and fell to his feet with a deafening crash.

“No,” he breathed. “No no no please no…”

It wasn’t until the blunt pain bit through his knees that he realised he’d slumped onto the floor, and the bitter sobs wrenched out of him.

It was his fault. He’d given Crowley a loaded gun, had said so many awful, terrible things to him, things he didn’t even mean.

It was his fault.

The guilt bore down on him like a tidal wave, crushing him, drowning him, stinging with every breath like salt water.

It was all his fault that Crowley was gone. And he’d never even told him how much he meant to him, how much he loved him…

The pain was unbearable, completely overwhelming him until he thought he would break apart entirely. Everything started fading, the edges of his vision blurring into nothing. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, tried calling out until finally,  _ finally _ , he was opening his eyes and gasping in a rattling breath like he’d broken through the surface of the ocean.

He was staring down at a pillow, shaking, still sobbing. A hand wrapped around his arm, something warm pressed into him. There was a soothing voice at his ear.

“–lright, angel? Angel. Oi, talk to me.”

Crowley. It was Crowley, next to him, holding him. Yes, it was Crowley. Solid and alive and whole.

“You’re here…”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Cold hard walls had dissolved into the cozy bedroom above the bookshop, the unforgiving floor under him replaced by a soft comforter. There was a book nearby, open face down, and a lamp by the bed casting everything in gold. And next to him was Crowley.

Aziraphale burrowed his face into Crowley’s shoulder, fists balling up in his black silk pyjamas. Crowley held him, one hand stroking his hair, the other rubbing gently across the plane of his back, and murmured soothing nothings as he cried everything out. He cried until he was an empty shell, sagging into Crowley’s slight frame. They stayed that way for goodness knows how long, until Aziraphale felt his breaths even out and his thoughts come back to him.

“I had a bad dream,” he said at last, quietly into Crowley’s chest.

“You… You were sleeping?”

“Suppose I must have been.”

Crowley ran a hand down Aziraphale’s arm, smoothing out his soft tartan pyjamas. Aziraphale sat straight up on the bed so he could get a look at the demon. His golden eyes, turned glowing amber in the soft light of the bedside lamp, were wide and searching.

“You were… gone. The holy water, that I’d given you. You’d…” The words got tangled in his throat. “Oh, and it was all my fault.”

“Angel…” Crowley’s voice wavered slightly. He reached out, hand enveloping Aziraphale’s. “I’m here.”

Aziraphale nodded silently. He took a deep, weary breath.

“I’ve had that dream before. Ones like it, anyway. I think it’s why I hate sleeping so much.” He laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that silly? It’s been well over 150 years and I still can’t get over it.”

“It’s not silly,” Crowley said, gently but firmly. “I still have nightmares, about the bookshop burning. And… falling.”

He winced slightly as he said it, and Aziraphale’s heart broke at the pained expression in his eyes. Crowley laughed awkwardly, plastering on a smile, but he saw the tears threatening to spill over.

“You wanna talk about not getting over something? That was thousands of years ago, and it’s still a sore spot. Don’t think you should be beating yourself up for needing a century or two.”

“Crowley…”

The demon gave his hand a squeeze.

“They don’t seem to come so often when you’re around though.”

Aziraphale smiled tenderly.

“What a pair we are, eh?” he said.

Crowley blew an amused huff of air from his nostrils before tugging on the angel’s hand.

“Come on, let’s get back in bed.”

They got themselves under the downy comforter, Aziraphale resting his head on Crowley’s chest, Crowley snaking his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Just remember, I’m right here. I’ll always be here,” Crowley said, planting a kiss into platinum blonde curls.

As Aziraphale sank into the warmth of Crowley’s embrace, he could believe - for the next few hours at least - that it was true.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on some bigger things, so wanted to take a break and write something short. The prompt is from the goodomensprompts Tumblr.
> 
> And thank you all for the positive responses to my fics! Your comments and kudos bring me much joy <3 Come and find me at heavens-bookshop.tumblr.com


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